


War doesn't stop at home

by Britbean



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Hallucinations, Light BDSM, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6208246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britbean/pseuds/Britbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically fiction set in an modern au in which a great war known as the blight has taken place. This fiction will follow the path of three veterans of that war, and their battles that they must face after the war. This is my first fic so sorry for the crappy content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War doesn't stop at home

It's quiet, a soft distant ringing being the only thing to separate him from the silent voices. His gaze locked onto something that isn't quite there. Phantom smells begin to creep up his flared nostrils and each muscle in his stomach twitches momentarily at the sudden remembrance of an unbearable pain. Every instinctive signal being sent from his brain begs him to fight. Finally his vision returns, becoming less of an generalised blur as individual details begin to form. It's bright, bright enough to cause him to squint a little. There's smears of green and brown decorated with little shards of crimson and black. It takes him a while to realise there's an motionless blob before him, coloured the same as the surrounding scenery. A few moments go by before the blurs form into trees. Torn, fallen...dead trees. The dried dirt around him was littered with circular craters. The crimson shards soon became spurts of blood along the tree beside him, though he knew it wasn't his. The still blob in front of him shrunk and took shape. Red. It was everywhere. It surrounded them both, clinging to their skin. Different shades and colours faded through the bloody blanket to reveal familiar features. Knotted black hair, an unshaven scruffy beard and the half burnt remainder of its metallic name tag dangling from their neck. It couldn't be.....Just before his mind could connect the piling evidence revealing the identity of the mystery person before him, an chorus of distorted screams flooded his right ear. "Man-Down!" They proclaimed, over and over. The constant repetition almost deafened him, only to be saved by a stern muffled female voice. 

"Mr. Theirin? Alistair!" And with that, it all transitioned back to reality too fast for Alistair's brain to register. The stunned man's facial expression remained dazed, as if he had just received blunt force trauma to his head however It didn't take him long to compose himself. Returning to the uncomforting confines of an office, he gave a quick glance around him to remind himself of where he was. The place in question seemed to be his doctor's room which was decorated with mixtures of dark tyrian purple and black. Books laid resting on each other, on the varying practices of witchcraft. Small jars of bones and powders, with a variety of other just as disturbing items sat neatly upon their respective shelves and table-tops. Fumes and little smoking trails rose from the burning sticks of incense placed beside the window, laying gently atop an underlying soft perfume that left the nose craving more of it's sweet scent. It all repulsed Alistair, just as much as the owner of the office did. A thinner and slightly paler little thing. Her face had very pronounced features such as a tight and sharp jawline with eyes that burned with saffron iris', a mixture predatory yet alluring beauty like a false sense of comfort for her unknowing prey. Her makeup was a little more subtle than her eyes, but retained the fierce look she enjoyed wearing during her days. If you could withstand her crippling anxiety inducing gaze long enough to get a view of her body, you'd find she always wore a low cut top that matched the colour of her walls, with her favourite large necklace that had enough loops and curling lines to get lost in. Each inch of its golden beauty intricately crafted with steady hands and embellished with small gems and opals, was sure to impress even the most sophisticated of crowds. Lastly, small metallic tassels hung from the outer rims of the necklace, providing a flowing metal blanket that rested upon any uncovered skin on her exposed chest. Her dark pants fit snugly along her slightly curvier lower body, running along her legs to meet with the top of her black leather high heeled boots. "Alistair, if I must repeat myself once more I shall-" The unamused doctor sitting in front of him found herself unexpectedly cut off short before she finished her usual threat. "I'm fine, just got caught up thinking about flying dogs. I mean could you imagine? They'd be like griffons except...well, less griffon-y and more dog with wings." He exclaimed with excitement. 

The excitement wasn't returned by Morrigan, infact she merely squinted at him in disbelief, feeling like she was dealing with a childish idiot. Alistair would rarely responded to her questions, refused to take part in any kind of treatment and would more than often annoy her until she had no choice but to send him to puppy treatment for her own sanity's sake. She theorized that this was his metaphorical wall, the defensive mechanism for her to figure out how to disarm. That lumbering fool was an stubborn, idiotic, frustrating bastard but he knew how to change the flow of the conversation to avoid anybody peering too close. It was that, and the fact that he loved petting those puppies for hours. He would sometimes even cooperate with her if she let him pet the big fluffy ones, if you can count talking about his dreams of an order dedicated to slaying monster as cooperation. 

 

" Please, Alistair. Try to remain focused, I'm sure your odd thoughts of drooling beasts with wings can remain for a later time." Morrigan always spoke soft, with just enough sarcasm for it to borderline condescension. "Now, about these momentary flashes you have. Is there anything that you specifically notice? Like a certain reassurance? A place perhaps, or a face even." The question caused the room to sink into a tense quiet leaving them both only to the noises of the outside world seeping in through the opened window beside them. "Duncan." He muttered to himself, voice breaking with grief as the word left his mouth. "Duncan was his name."


End file.
